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SONNETS 

SUGGESTED BY PAINTINGS 

IN THE COLLECTION OF 

JULIA MUNSON ^ FREDERIC 

FAIRCHILD SHERMAN 



BY 

Frederic Fairchild Sherman 




New York 
CHRISTMASTIDE 

MCMXXII 



Copyright 1922 ^v 
Frederic Fairchild Sherman 



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CONTENTS 

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ARCADIA 

tainted by Albert ^'Pinkham Ryder 

A SOUTH SEA IDYL 

'Pain fed by J. <^lden Weir 

THE WRECK 

Painted by ^Albert Pinkham Ryder 

PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG PAINTER 

Painted by 'benjamin P>. J^pman 

THE SUNLIT DELL 

Painted by Jjliian zM. (^enth 

MEDITATION 

Painted by 'Benjamin T). f(jpman 



S O N N E 1^ S 




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ARCADIA 

T^ainted by Albert T^inkham Ryder 

Here in this garden that the world knows not 
One hears the voices of the long ago, 
The throb of strings touched by an elfin bow, 

The pipes of fairies heretofore forgot. 

Still fragrant as of old this secret spot 

And fair as Tempe in the moon's white glow — 
An Eden of today that does not know 

The curse of Adam that the world doth blot. 

A setting like a dream's it is — that wakes 
Our slow imagination and that makes 

Us sense at last the dance's deathless rhvme 
Of nymphs and satyrs living here today 
Forever young, as ere had passed away 

The gods and goddesses of ancient time. 



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A SOUTH SEA IDYL 

T^ainted by J. <zAlden Weir 

Child of the magic islands of the Southern sea, 
Hibiscus blossoms in your raven hair 
And o'er your head a palm held in the air — 

Figure of romance and of earth's poetry 

That never dies, forgotten though it be — 
I often wish that I were with you there. 
As full of wonder and as free of care. 

The music of your voice to comfort me. 

Deep in the lustrous depths of your dark eyes 
I fathom something of the mighty past 
That is your everlasting heritage. 
Only to grieve man is so little wise 

He knows you not — of all the gods the last 
That evermore shall brighten History's page 



THE WRECK 

'tainted by Albert T*inkham Ryder 

High on the beach, left by the fallen tide, 
In bold relief against the moonlit dark. 
Deserted and forgotten lies the bark 

Which once the ocean's reaches used to ride. 

Across one mast hangs still a yard stretched wide 
That makes a Cross, upstanding, cold and stark, 
There in the night — a punctuation mark 

To stop one's heart, remembering Him who died. 

And what if now upon Eternity 

The world lay like this wreck beside the sea. 

Untenanted and broken in the shadows dim. 
With nothing standing save the cross? That thought 
Somehow the artist in this picture wrought 

To haunt us with its implication grim! 





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PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG PAINTER 

T'ainted by 'Benjamin ©. K^pman 

Eyes full of dreams and thoughts far, far away, 

Idle he sits before his easel here; 

Nor does he see the guest that doth appear,. 
Whom he has waited thus for many a day. 
He can but doubt his skill as yet, and pray 

For that perfection which to him is dear; 

While even now Fame with a flower is near. 
Waiting her debt of gratitude to pay. 

Peace, gentle youth, the picture in your heart 
Shall yet come true upon your square of wood 
With all the wonder and the loveliness 
Of an immortal masterpiece of art — 

And you whose work is so misunderstood 
New generations shall arise to bless! 







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THE SUNLIT DELL 

T^ainted by J^illian eJ^. Qenth 

Deep in the woods there is a sunlit dell 

Of leafy fragrance filled the whole day long 
With fluttering wings and ecstacies of song. 

A stream that tinkles like a fairy bell 

Drips from the rocks, and crystal as a well 

Lies in a pool among the flowers that throng 

The path down which Eve, hid from eyes that wrong. 

Returns as to her bath in Eden ere man fell. 

What sylvan scenes of fabled days of yore. 
What vistas of forgotten dreams of youth, 
Return to gladden once again our eyes 
In here beholding Happiness once more — 

A human form touched by the light of Truth 
With new divinity — in a new Paradise! 



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MEDITATION 

tainted by "benjamin U. K^pman 

Like some lone castle's single soaring tower 
One mountain lifts its everlasting height 
Against the dusk, and in the gathering night 

Beside it blossoms in the airy bower 

Of heaven the summer moon — a crimson flower 
Hung in God's garden like a lantern bright 
The paths of peace and quietude to light 

By the still waters at the twilight hour. 

Only the hermit thrushes' vesper hymn 
Here penetrates the woodland cloisters dim, 

And she who walks in beauty in this place 
Of refuge from the many cares of day 
The Master meets and never comes away 

But some new glory shines from out her face 



SEVENTY-FIVE COPIES PRIVATELY PRINTED 
FOR JULIA MUNSON AND FREDERIC FAIRCHILD 
SHERMAN AND THEIR FRIENDS DURING 
THE MONTH OF DECEMBER MCMXXII 



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